Under the chilling drizzle, Artem stood motionless, oblivious to the cold raindrops kissing his face or the biting wind swirling around him. Clutched in his hand was a handful of damp, cold earth — the final tribute he could offer to Alice. The coffin, adorned with her cherished white roses, had already disappeared into the bleak, sodden grave, yet the piercing, unbearable sound of brakes screeching and a crash still echoed relentlessly in his ears. In a single instant, a reckless truck driver running a red light shattered everything they had built together: their dreams, plans, and the laughter that faded forever. Only two weeks remained until their wedding.
Colors drained from his world, leaving behind only somber shades of leaden gray sorrow. No one was closer to Artem than Alice; only his friend Dmitry stood silently by his side, offering a heavy hand on his shoulder in a gesture of helpless support.
The days following the funeral blurred into a singular, oppressive nightmare. Artem wasn’t truly living — he was merely existing, wandering an empty apartment that still whispered her laughter, fragrance, and gentle footsteps. He would freeze by the window she loved to gaze through, anticipating the sound of the door opening and her joyful shout, “Tema, I’m home!” But the door remained silent. His soul was utterly scorched.
Dmitry observed his friend’s rapid decline. Artem’s life until then had been harsh: orphanage, loneliness, relentless struggle to find his place under the sun. Just as happiness seemed within reach, fate cruelly tore it away, leaving a bleeding, unhealed wound.
“Listen, Tem,” Dmitry’s voice cut through the stupor sharply, almost commanding. “Hold on. I know words feel empty now. This loss is irreparable. Alice won’t come back. Still, you must keep living. You’re young and strong. You have to… change everything. Leave this place behind. Start anew.”
“How can I start over, Dim?” Artem’s tone was flat and lifeless. “This will always be with me. Not just a scar on my skin, but an emptiness inside — a void. I’d rather bury myself somewhere far away, away from everyone. To neither see nor hear anything…”
“You can’t!” Dmitry interrupted with steel in his voice. “Do you hear me? You simply can’t. And by the way, I have an idea.”
“Dim, thanks, but I…”
“Just listen!” Dmitry cut him off again, gripping his shoulders to ensure he met his gaze. “Go to my grandfather’s village. Grandpa Matvey. Remember I told you about it? It’s a tiny, remote place—far from the district center. Grandpa works as a gamekeeper. If you want to hide, it’s perfect. You’ll walk the forest with him, barely see anyone. The job is busy; poachers keep showing up, and he chases them off. The fresh air, nature… it’ll help you come back to life.”
Artem remained silent, but Dmitry caught a faint spark flicker in his dim, lifeless eyes. Was it curiosity? Hope? Or simply desperation seeking any escape?
“What if…” Artem whispered with effort. “What if I go? Give me the address, how to find it. I’ll leave tomorrow. Nothing here holds me anymore.”
“Good. Grandpa Matvey lives in Yelovo. His house is at the forest’s edge. Take the electric train to Promysla crossing, then walk about seven kilometers.”
“No big deal,” Artem waved, the first sign of willpower in days. “Thanks, brother. You’re a true friend. You should come visit Grandpa too.”
“I will,” Dmitry promised warmly. “He’s a good man. Send him my regards.” The two embraced; in that hug conveyed pain, hope, and unspoken, resolute brotherhood.
The journey to Yelovo felt like stepping into another world. The city’s noise faded, replaced at first by the rhythmic clatter of wheels, then by an overwhelming and total silence. The village nestled at the edge of an endless forest, appearing forgotten by time. Weathered, darkened wooden houses with carved trims, chickens roaming freely, and an intoxicating scent of pine and fresh air filled the surroundings.
Grandpa Matvey, emerging as the porch creaked beneath his feet, was a stocky, sturdy figure as if carved from an ancient oak. His wrinkled face and piercing light eyes seemed to have witnessed the very essence of life.
“Are you Grandpa Matvey?” Artem’s voice sounded unusually loud in the quiet atmosphere.
“That’s me, young man. Come in if you’ve come,” grumbled the old man but greeted him with warmth.
The house smelled of dried herbs, stove smoke, and freshly baked bread. Sitting at a rough wooden table with a steaming cup of tea sweetened with honey, Artem shared everything — his childhood in the orphanage, loneliness, Alice, and that terrible moment which shattered his life. Grandpa listened silently, nodding his gray head with a profound understanding that somehow eased the heaviness in Artem’s heart.
After tea, the old man showed him the smaller house next door.
“This is the family home. Old but sturdy. You’ll stay here. Everything you need is here. Rest up, tomorrow we take a tour. You’ll be my helper.”
Thus began a new chapter in Artem’s life. For nearly two months, he adapted to the forest’s rhythm: early mornings, long walks along mossy trails, the wind singing through pine and spruce tops, and the birds’ cries. He learned to “read” the forest—interpreting footprints, recognizing voices, sensing nature’s breath. Grandpa Matvey was a strict but fair teacher. Gradually, the sharp pain in Artem’s soul dulled into a quiet, gentle sorrow. He began to smile again. He regained the ability to breathe deeply.
Always by their side was a loyal dog, a German shepherd named Grom. Intelligent and devoted, he proved an irreplaceable companion and helper.
- Artem settled comfortably in Yelovo.
- He aided the elderly with chores, chopped wood, and repaired fences.
- For the first time, he felt needed and experienced genuine human connection.
One autumn day, after submitting a report at the forestry office in Promysly, they stopped at a roadside café. Returning, they noticed Grom restless and whining inside the car, scratching at the door. As Artem opened it slightly, the dog rushed out and barked fiercely around the building’s corner.
Artem followed immediately. There, huddled on an old stump, sat a young woman crying. Grom stood before her, neither attacking nor retreating.
“Grom, come!” Artem commanded, and the dog obeyed, nuzzling his cold nose into Artem’s palm. “Don’t be afraid. He won’t hurt you. What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
The girl sobbed harder. Artem spotted a roughly made crutch leaning against the wall. Grandpa Matvey walked over, silently assessing the scene.
“Did you hurt your leg, dear?” he asked, nodding toward the crutch.
“My stepfather brought me here,” she sobbed. “Dropped me off on his motorcycle and told me never to come back. Mom died three days ago. He always beat me… Now I have nowhere to go.”
Looking up through her tear-streaked face, Artem’s breath caught. She bore a striking resemblance to Alice — the same radiant, large eyes and facial features. Yet her gaze held not a lost pain but genuine, living sorrow and fear.
“He threw me off the porch long ago,” she whispered when asked silently by the old man. “My leg never healed right.”
“You’ll come with us,” Artem said unexpectedly. “There’s room for you in Yelovo. Seven kilometers from here.”
The girl blushed, glancing at her injured leg.
“It’s inconvenient… I’m… disabled,” she murmured.
“Nonsense!” Grandpa Matvey snapped. “The truly disabled are those with broken souls. Come along.”
During the bumpy ride back, the girl revealed her name was Lilia, she was twenty, and had spent recent years as a caregiver for her sick mother, enduring abuse and drunken outbursts from her stepfather.
Grandpa Matvey embraced Lilia as family. He handed her a light, well-crafted crutch, repaired the stairs for her comfort, and she settled into his home, filling it with warmth, coziness, and the aroma of fresh baking. On winter evenings, they gathered by the crackling stove, awaiting Artem’s return, while the wind howled through the chimney.
One day, Grandpa Matvey asked Lilia directly:
“Do you like my Artem?”
The girl blushed deeply and lowered her eyes.
“Yes, grandpa. But what of it? I’m lame, and he’s… he won’t even look at me.”
“Enough of such words,” the old man said firmly. “I don’t want to hear that again. He’s a good man. Confess to him. The heart knows.”
Suddenly, the door flung open and Artem appeared, carrying an unfamiliar man almost in his arms into the house.
“Grandpa, help! This man is in trouble.”
The man, about forty, well-dressed but pale with pain, gasped, “Leg… I think it’s broken. My car flipped on a turn… I barely escaped.”
They laid him on a cot, while Grandpa Matvey covered him with a blanket and Lilia fetched tea with raspberry preserves. The man introduced himself as Vadim and eyed Lilia’s injured leg carefully.
“I’m from Moscow,” he said through clenched teeth. “Visiting a friend, Stepan the beekeeper, in Mikhailovka. I need to contact him… My brother is a surgeon in Moscow with his own clinic. He’ll arrange a helicopter for evacuation.”
Risking his safety, Artem climbed the nearest hill to find a signal and managed to call Stepan who promised help.
After the worst had passed, Vadim, wrapped in blankets, turned to Artem, nodding toward Lilia:
“Is she your wife? What about her leg?”
“Are you a doctor?” Grandpa Matvey interjected.
“No, but a very good one,” Vadim replied. “I can arrange surgery to fix her leg. Help restore her.”
“And how much would it cost?” Artem asked gloomily.
“Nothing for you,” Vadim smiled. “You saved my life. I owe you. So, Lilia, get ready. We’re flying out.”
The next day, a medical helicopter arrived for Vadim and took Lilia along. Artem silently watched the chopper disappear into the cold autumn sky, feeling the familiar emptiness yawning open within him once more. Just as he had found the strength to live again, his heart shattered again.
A month passed — the longest, most sorrowful month of his life. Every day he returned from the forest harboring a secret, desperate hope to see her at the doorway. But it remained empty.
After one and a half months, she returned. Stepan, the beekeeper from Mikhailovka, brought her back. They stopped in Promysly, and after thanking the driver, Lilia stepped out alone. Walking the recognizable path to Yelovo, each step was heavy — not from pain, but from emotion. Her leg, now encased in a special boot, still lacked full strength.
She quietly entered the house where Grandpa Matvey dozed in his chair by the stove.
“Grandpa,” she softly called, touching his shoulder.
Startled, the old man opened his eyes. He stared at her in disbelief for several seconds.
“Liliushka? My dear child! You’re back! Come, walk about…”
She took a few steps. A slight limp lingered but it was no longer the twisted gait that previously marred her body. Tears flowed from the old tracker’s eyes.
“My beauty… Just in time! Artem’s birthday is tomorrow. He’ll be so delighted!”
Artem returned late from his rounds, exhausted and chilled. Grom darted ahead as usual. Entering Grandpa’s house, Artem froze at the doorway as if seeing a ghost. There stood Lilia by the table, smiling, without her crutch.
They shared no words, only gazed deeply at each other. In their silence was more meaning than in a thousand spoken words. Then Artem stepped forward; Lilia rushed into his arms. He lifted her, twirled her around, and she laughed and cried simultaneously.
“All together now!” Grandpa Matvey exclaimed joyfully, wiping away tears as he set down cups on the table. “Come on, Artem, don’t keep us waiting — speak up!”
Artem gently set Lilia down but held her hands tightly. Looking into her deep, shining eyes — so alike and yet so different — he spoke:
“Lilia…” his voice trembled. “Will you marry me?”
From his old jacket pocket, he produced a small box. Inside lay a simple gold ring — the very one he had bought long ago for Alice but never placed on her finger. Now, it had found its new, sole owner. He extended it to Lilia.
“Will you say yes?”
“Yes,” she whispered — the clearest, happiest word across the entire universe. “Of course, yes!”
Grandpa Matvey, unable to hold back his tears, embraced them both warmly.
“My children, I bless you with love and happiness. And grandchildren soon, hear me? So this home might once more echo with children’s laughter!”
Outside, the ancient pines swayed, guarding their silent, eternal secret. They had witnessed much — pain, despair, loss — but they knew that life, like a forest path, always leads onward: toward light, love, and healing.
In conclusion, this poignant story portrays a journey through grief and despair toward renewal and hope. It shows how, even after the darkest moments, the healing power of nature, friendship, and love can help mend broken hearts and pave the way for new beginnings.